


Worship

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Dancing, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Peace, Relaxation, Softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: Following Hilda's suggestion, Zelda goes on a vacation to New Orleans. Marie helps her reconnect with herself again. Post S2. Fluff.
Relationships: Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman, Marie LaFleur/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 18
Kudos: 57
Collections: Mambo Marie March





	1. Chapter 1

This was a mistake.

Zelda had known as much the minute she had set foot in this glorified sardine tin they called a plane. If you were petite enough not to gnash knees with the person next to you, it was bound to be the smell – the hideous concoction of human sweat, accumulated perfume and a large dollop of food odours – that made you lose your mind before the first hour was even up.

Yet knowing all this, her sister had insisted she’d go on this vacation.

“Treat yourself,” she had called it, as though Zelda was five years old and unable to choose between a sweet and a savoury snack.

Preposterous.  
  
But even she could not deny that the thought of leaving Greendale was surprisingly appealing. The timing was worrisome, of course, but whenever feelings of guilt arose, Zelda told herself that that which was in flux would hopefully have settled by the time she returned. And besides, she would hardly be gone for weeks. A couple of days, to visit her old stomping grounds of the Crescent City, to cleanse her pallet and find herself before assuming the mantle of High Priestess.  
  
But New Orleans had hardly waited for her and times had moved on. From her lodgings at the Garden District, she wandered down towards the French Quarter in the afternoon, the air warm and thick with humidity around her. Change was apparent at every turn. The city was swamped with tourists and revellers, gaudy marquees tempting them into food palaces. Souvenir stores littered the streets and the wind carried the scent of frivolous abandon.  
  
Surely it hadn’t been like this in her youth? Though she couldn’t say so with utter conviction, for her blood had been surging with sweet alcohol and her head swimming with the potency of novel magicks. The search for the latter now took her away from the beaten path and down a narrow alleyway. Here, tourists were rarely in sight and Zelda with her pale complexion and stiff, buttoned up demeanour looked like an outsider.

Following nothing but her own instincts, she explored a few boutiques and exchanged words with the locals. She only came to a standstill when a chorus of voices boomed from the street outside. Noticing her trepidation, the old shopkeeper offered a reassuring smile.  
  
“Go and see, sister. Celebrations have begun.”  
  
Unable to refuse and admittedly a little curious, Zelda ventured back out and was immediately swept up in a colourful storm of witches. They were dancing and singing, shouting and twirling, unleashing their power into the air. Unafraid.  
  
Zelda’s hand settled on her hip and smoothed down her blouse as she watched. It was shaking most pitifully. Sweat started to pool at the small of her back. A memory tinkled in the recesses of her mind.  
  
Swirling butterfly dress.  
  
Music.  
  
The scene before her continued in slow-motion, limbs thrusting, voices swelling. Darkness behind her lids, burning like a mark.

* * *

Her vision was hazy when she came to again, but the breeze in her hair felt pleasantly soothing. In front of her on the ground, she could vaguely make out a moving figure, but it took a little while longer before that figure transformed recognisably into a woman. She was sitting on her knees underneath a large tree decorated with bright ribbons and scarves, the skirt of her long amber-coloured dress fanning majestically out around her.

But before Zelda could observe more, the woman turned, her lips quirking up into a grin. “Ah you are awake at last. Very good.” She pushed up to her feet and wiggled both hands in the air. They were coated in some kind of paint as if the fruits of nature had bled out in her palms. “My name is Marie LeFleur.” She briefly turned away to wash her skin and offered a smile over her shoulder. “Calmez-vous, chérie. I do not bite…not unless requested.”  
  
She winked and Zelda felt a blush creep up on her cheeks, as though she ought to be deeply aghast.  
  
“You have not been sleeping lately, have you?” Marie proceeded, her voice softer and more serious this time.  
  
Zelda shifted about and settled her hands in her lap. They were trembling still, and she wanted anything but to draw attention to them. Trauma haunted her most nights, shapeless like a lingering shadow at the edges of vision. Terror, more often than not, lay in the not remembered, the hastily forgotten.  
  
“I have recently transitioned to High Priestess. You might not be aware of this, but it comes at a price.”  
  
Marie took the little dig in her stride. “And what good are you to your coven if you are exhausted and raw, Zelda Spellman?”  
  
She tensed at that and sat up just a little bit straighter.  
  
“How do you know who I am?” she demanded, and Marie moved her slender fingers through the air as if she could graze the stars themselves.  
  
“The spirits like to whisper and gossip,” she answered mysteriously before her face crinkled into a broad smile and she added, chuckling, “but so does your driver’s license. You are a long way from home, chérie.”  
  
“Indeed, and not welcome, it would seem. Perhaps it is time I took my leave.”  
  
Zelda rose to her feet and summoned her best dignified air, but no skilful façade could hide how badly her legs were shaking.  
  
“Come now, don’t be so stubborn.” Marie had reached her within two strides and gently linked their arms to steady her. “It was only a bit of fun, and you are not so easily offended, eh? Asseyez-vous, s'il vous plait.”  
  
She guided her back towards the bench and gently rubbed her hand. As they walked, the night around them lit up once more with music and chanting voices that exploded like fireworks into the sky. It seemed to Zelda that she could feel the ripple effect of their power settle on her own skin. She shivered.  
  
“Are these your people?”  
  
“My people?” Marie repeated and laughed. She had taken a couple of steps towards the large tree and snatched one of the scarves from its branches. “We are all linked, it is true, but they do not answer to me.”  
  
Crouching down before Zelda, she gently wrapped the scarf around her shoulders. A warm scent of incense and perfume clung to it.   
  
“Well, they surely must answer to someone.”  
  
“Of course.” Marie inclined her head. “To the spirits that guide us and to their own moral compass. We do not follow, we are free.”  
  
“Free to cause such a racket? To dance wildly and lewdly?” Zelda scoffed and tilted her head up towards the stars. Cocooned and cared for, she was beginning to sense something much too fragile stir somewhere between her ribs.  
  
“I am pleased it has affected you so, my dear. But it is only a prayer, a plea for protection and security, or good fortune and mercy.” She collected both of her hands in her own and gave them a squeeze. “Watch.”  
  
And she stepped backwards until she came to stand underneath the strongest arm of the tree. Her body started to sway, hips rocking slowly from side to side. Her eyes drifted shut while her feet softly kneaded the ground, never losing contact. The image pierced Zelda in its intimacy and cracked her wider open yet in a way she could not understand. Her trembling hands closed over her stomach, only leaving it to wipe at a tear that was threatening to fall. When she looked up again, Marie was observing her, her body still in motion.  
  
“Blasphemy!” Zelda hissed, her voice as hoarse and brittle as she felt. But the other woman only extended a hand.  
  
“Let me show you that it isn’t?”  
  
“If you deem me unwell enough to walk, I surely am unwell enough to dance also.”  
  
She anticipated impatience or perhaps a frown at the very least, but Marie’s hand and with it her invitation calmly remained.  
  
“I would not suggest it if it was detrimental to your health, Zelda.”  
  
“That’s Miss Spellman to you,” she wanted to say but didn’t, because she could not deny taking pleasure in the way her name sounded on the other’s tongue. Split in two, each syllable shone confidently.  
  
Her hand stole into Marie’s who held onto it with a kind of steady softness and guided her underneath the tree. And even though her legs trembled, they did not buckle.  
  
“I will not tell you how to worship. You are a woman of faith.” She took her other hand too and began to sway from side to side again. “But I will urge you to listen.”  
  
“To listen?” Zelda repeated, stoically refusing to move. “To what?”  
  
“To the wind? To nature? Yourself?” Mambo Marie laughed once and closed her eyes. “To anything you feel, Zelda.”  
  
And she rocked her hips and rolled her head back into her neck, exuding nothing but happiness and pleasure. But within Zelda everything had ceased to stir. Everything was clenched so tight, in fact, that her breathing came in shallow waves. How could she possibly feel anything when inside her very own core she was numb and empty? To dance now would have rendered her a puppet.  
  
“I can’t,” she said, and the words escaped her in a voice that was frayed and hoarse and desperate. And as shame rolled over her, Marie grasped both of her hands more firmly.  
  
“You are afraid.” She brushed a thumb over her knuckles. “That is normal. But you are safe.”  
  
She let go of her altogether and Zelda was surprised to find herself noticing the cold absence of her touch.  
  
“Perhaps I can show you.” She started to round her now, coming to a pause behind her. “Do I have your permission?”  
  
Zelda glanced over her shoulder to meet her eyes and gave a small nod.  
  
“Thank you. I am going to take your hands again.”  
  
She could feel Marie’s warm presence and allowed her to spread her arms wide.  
  
“Observe the branch above you, Zelda. You can see it sway, no?”  
  
She inclined her head in acknowledgement.  
  
“Keep watching, chérie.”  
  
It was strong, she thought, strong and firm, with grooves and nicks in its wood, accumulated over time. Sometimes it held its position mid-air, and at other times it shuddered underneath a whisper of wind.  
  
“Voilà.”  
  
It took only that one word for her to notice that she was moving, too. On her own. With Marie perfectly still behind her. Her hips circled slowly and found their rhythm, supported by legs that were shaking a little less each second that passed. She breathed in, cleansing air that unravelled the knot between her ribcage. And now her arms, too, yearned to move. Gliding through the air at first, then down her sides, down her own body, feeling energy seeping free.  
  
The motion brought Marie flush against her back, her warmth enveloping her. Following her. She thrust their arms up towards the heavens and felt her chest swim with giddy exaltation. Her lips parted, released a sigh, a gasp, a laugh. Tears splashed onto her cheeks, and she brought their arms around her middle and leaned back against Marie. Swaying in an equilibrium. A worship of the spirits and of herself. Unbound, relaxed, at peace.


	2. Chapter 2

“You are very powerful, Zelda Spellman,” Marie remarked after a prolonged period of companionable silence. Her arms remained wrapped around her.

“I did mention becoming High Priestess.”   
  
Marie’s laughter was soft and amenable, and whispered against the back of her neck in an altogether pleasurable way. “That is only a title, eh? Would you be less powerful without it?”   
  
“Of course not,” Zelda scoffed but swiftly added, “Nonetheless, it _is_ an honour.”   
  
Marie gave a non-committal hum in return. “It is a blessing and a curse. But do not be so quick to move on.” Her hands moved Zelda’s now to rest on her abdomen, fingers splayed wide like starfish. “Let yourself feel the strength of your energies.” Fingertips traced delicate rings that awakened her skin beneath the flimsy fabric of her blouse. “Everything that you are, that you lost, that you will become. It is right here, n'est-ce pas?”   
  
A whole history unlocked by touch alone, Zelda thought fleetingly, before she could think no more, because Marie’s ministrations never ceased. She guided her hands tenderly, over ribcage and hips, unravelling knots and soothing gaping wounds, until she felt weak in her knees again and her head tipped back against her shoulder.   
  
“Are you comfortable, Zelda?” A question whispered into her hair. A warm wave of perfume and incense, lips teetering on the edge of her skin.   
  
She rumbled a sigh of contentment and kept her eyes closed. “Marvellously so, my dear.”   
  
The curve of a smile, solely felt. And nothing else but blissful silence. They continued to sway underneath the stars, a million miles away from everything else, until Marie caught her shivering and gently straightened her.   
  
“Will you stay for tea, chérie? You must warm up before I let you leave.”   
  
Zelda turned, senses dazed and disorientated, and used all of her energy to fix her hair and compose herself. “It would be rude to decline.”   
  
Marie laughed and clicked her tongue. “You are not so good at hiding, eh?” Her eyes shone brightly as she drew her knuckles once lightly over her cheek. “You do not have to try and fool me. I like what I see.”   
  
Burning from cheeks to toe, Zelda remained wordlessly on the spot. Something new had ignited just below her navel that ached so loudly she was certain Marie must sense it too. But if she did, she did not let it show.   
  
“Take a seat, and I will be back in a second.”   
  
It was a little bit like walking through the murky landscape of a dream, she thought, her steps firm and unsteady at once. And when had all the voices ceased? She looked up at the stars and folded her hands in her lap, sitting primly as though this rush of warmth might escape her otherwise.   
  
A couple of minutes passed then Marie’s tall figure returned.   
  
“Here we are. Herbal tea infused with cardamom and a little treat just for you. I have a feeling you have a sweet tooth.”   
  
She carried the tray over to her before sinking down by her side on the bench. Zelda helped her adjust it all and eyed the white drink in the little glass curiously.   
  
“It looks not dissimilar to dulce de leche. Although the colour is wrong.”   
  
“Uhu, not bad,” Marie nodded and brought the glass up to her nose to smell.   
  
“Coconut?”   
  
“Oui. And condensed milk, and nutmeg, and cinnamon, and vanilla, and anise-“   
  
“And rum,” Zelda rumbled happily, nostrils flaring.   
  
The other woman laughed and set the glass back down. “You are a connoisseur, I see. Must I be strict with you or will you have your tea first?”   
  
“If the order is of importance to you, my dear, I will do my best to comply.” She cupped the mug with both palms and lifted it up to her lips. “But perhaps in return you would indulge me in answering a few questions?”   
  
Marie shrugged and began sipping from her own tea. “I will answer anything I am comfortable with.”   
  
“I did not see you in the street earlier,” Zelda began slowly, careful to choose her words. “But when I fainted, I woke up here.”   
  
“Yes, my sisters brought you to me.” Her eyes glinted with amusement and expectation.   
  
“That implies – despite your comment earlier – that you do hold power in this community if it was you they sought out immediately.”   
  
“Or perhaps my house was simply closest,” she shrugged again, a chuckle always just around the corner. “Oh sweet Zelda, do smooth those stormy brows. It is no such serious matter. My official title is not so different from yours. I am Mambo Marie LeFleur.”   
  
“A Voodoo Priestess?”   
  
“Yes, and happy to offer my guidance and aid to anyone who comes knocking on my door.”   
  
“You sell yourself short.”   
  
“Do I? Because I do not flaunt my power or use it to intimidate?”   
  
Her look was all too knowing and Zelda hastily sought refuge in her cup of tea.   
  
“No, chérie. I know that I am strong. And I am honoured that people come to me for guidance. But I also know the burden of such faith. The weight of responsibility.”   
  
“A blessing and a curse,” Zelda repeated.   
  
“Uhu.”   
  
“It won’t be easy.” Zelda nodded vaguely, her thoughts drifting towards Faustus and their bound Dark Lord, to the depleted number of the coven and the uncertainty of the future. For a brief second she longed to tell Marie, but reason soon won the upper hand. Misplaced trust could prove fatal, and they hardly possessed the strength or the numbers to fight.   
  
“You sound as if you know hardship,” she said instead and earned a humourless smile from the other woman.   
  
“I come from a place very much like your own where women have fought for centuries to be heard, Zelda. And I live in a country where people like me are still oppressed and mistreated because of the colour of our skin.”   
  
She could feel her forehead crinkle into a frown. Shame stuck in her throat. “I apologise, Marie, I spoke without thinking.”  
  
“Apology accepted,” Marie returned, giving her arm a squeeze, her calm demeanour never changing. “But I can see that there is another question burning on your tongue.”   
  
Zelda uncrossed her legs and finished the rest of her tea before answering. “You seem reluctant to talk about your own power.”   
  
“Only if it is linked to hierarchy and persecution. Do you think I am not proud? My grandmother and the spirits have taught me everything I know, as they have taught her mother and her mother’s mother. When I was young, I did not care for such responsibility. I did not care for nature except to see it as my beautiful playroom. I had no respect. But eventually I learned.”   
  
“What happened?” Zelda intersected, finding herself glued to Marie’s lips.   
  
She laughed and shook her head. “I had an accident. I drowned. My grandma tried everything in her power, but she could not bring me back. It was the spirits, in their wisdom, who helped me find my mèt tèt. It was they who brought me home.”   
  
Slowly Zelda released the breath she had been holding.   
  
“My grandma was the most powerful woman I know. But even she was rendered powerless in that moment. You equate that to weakness. Because your Dark Lord punishes weakness, eh? But there is strength in accepting your limitations and reaching out. There is growth in failing. So power?” She drew up her shoulders. “It is all relative.”   
  
Zelda found herself nodding slowly while the familiar sense of fatigue stole over her. The tussle between her heart and her mind was making her weary to the bone.   
  
“Food for thought,” Marie concluded, squeezing her arm again. “Please, have your cremasse and I will walk you home. Perhaps tonight you will find rest.”   
  
Zelda accepted the little glass once more and emptied it in one go. The sweetness burned her throat most wonderfully and she smiled.   
  
“I rather get the feeling that _you_ will be occupying my dreams tonight.”   
  
How wonderful those dark eyes shone!

“What high honour, Zelda Spellman.” She leaned in close enough to run her slender fingers along her jawline, the tip of her tongue brushing up against her own bottom lip in a most mischievous display. And Zelda could not look away. “May those dreams be pleasing.”   
  
She exhaled, heavy air that stalled in her chest where her very being coiled and tensed with need.   
  
“I have no doubt.”   
  
For a brief moment her eyes abandoned Marie’s lips to search her face, and finding nothing but an open invitation, she bridged the gap between them and captured her mouth. A shock wave crashed through her body, nerves tingling with this, the barest of contacts. Just a brush of lips against lips, soft reassurance and a heat born out of tenderness. She cupped her cheek and brought her closer, feeling Marie’s fingers curl around her chin. A sigh passed from one mouth to the other, whispered and fragile. And even when they parted, Marie’s hand wound up in her hair, smoothing it behind her ear and over her shoulder. Her eyes were warm and fond.   
  
“Merci, chérie.”   
  
Face flushed and burning, Zelda straightened. Her voice was still thick and hoarse when she spoke. “The pleasure is all mine.”   
  
With quivering limbs they disentangled and headed out into the street, curious looks following them as they walked. The two priestesses, their heads held high, very nearly outshining the brilliant nightlife around them. In front of the door to Zelda’s lodgings they stopped, turning automatically towards each other like two halves unwilling to part.   
  
“Marie, if I may. Could I request to see you again?”   
  
Her lips parted into a smile so broad it showed her teeth. “Tomorrow if you want. As long as you promise to rest tonight, yes?” Her arm snaked around her until her hand came to rest on the small of her back, bringing her close.   
  
“I will certainly endeavour to do so.”   
  
Lips brushed up against the corner of her mouth, igniting her anew until she arched unabashedly into the other’s embrace.   
  
“Bonne nuit, Zelda.”   
  
A near whimper hastily swallowed, composure found as she stepped back. “Goodnight, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- they just wanted to be soft and kiss, really  
> \- google tells me cremasse is a Haitian drink. If not, again please let me know and I'll change it :)

**Author's Note:**

> \- I don't speak French so if any of it is wrong, please let me know and I'll correct it :)  
> \- potentially gonna add to this for more softness, fluff and kisses.


End file.
